


You're My Only Home (The Letting Go Remix)

by listerinezero



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listerinezero/pseuds/listerinezero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Ororo hugged Erik and one time Erik hugged Ororo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're My Only Home (The Letting Go Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/gifts).
  * Inspired by [you're my only home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477925) by [pocky_slash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash). 



> For pocky_slash.
> 
> Big thanks to my betas - your input was super helpful, thank you!!

**1977**

Not all of the freed mutants can run. Some fly. One teleports. Six are whisked away to relative safety in a fireman’s carry by Pietro, who always has been useful for these sorts of things, even if it’s not his first choice for an assignment. Whatever their mode of escape, the dozens of mutants who’ve been trapped and tortured in this desert prison flee en masse, free to return to their homes and families.

Not a single one of them is interested in sticking around to hear what Erik has to say. He can’t blame them. If it were him, he’d run home, too. He _did_ , come to think of it: he landed back under Charles’ roof less than a month after he’d been freed from solitary. He’ll remind Charles of that when he comes home from Africa with no new recruits.

The bodies remaining amongst the rubble are lifeless now, but at least they’re mostly human. Erik wonders if he should give the fallen mutants a burial, but he doesn’t know when or where he would do such a thing. For the moment he just closes the eyes of those he’s failed to save. It’s the least he can do.

He crouches down beside one mutant, closes her eyelids and nudges her chin back into place. There are lines across her shoulders, and he can’t tell if they were put there by the men strewn in pieces around the building, or if they’re a part of her mutation. There’s also bright blue liquid smeared across her face, which, he realizes with a start, is her blood. Beast would have loved to meet her.

Something moves on the other side of the room. He doesn’t call out with his voice; he does it with his senses, to find out if a gun or a knife is being drawn. But there’s nothing like that, no metal whatsoever.

“Hello?”

He’s answered with a gasp.

It’s a little girl, hidden behind what was probably a table a few hours ago. Erik knows that there are child soldiers in the world, but she’s not one of them. She’s too small, and frightened, and though he saw a few children and teenagers among the prisoners here, the guards were all adult men. Besides, her hair gives her away as a mutant. It’s stark white against her dark skin, white like nothing he’s seen here in sandy-colored Cairo, and there’s a foreboding flash in her eyes when she glances up at him.

He holds up his empty hands to show he means her no harm, but still she hugs her knees in to her chest. She can’t be more than four or five years old, and she’s trembling.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s all right. It’s all over now.”

When she looks up at him again, her eyes are brown this time, and beginning to well with tears. He moves a little closer and bends to one knee. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, trying to smile at her in a way that shows he’s friendly, not menacing. “Are you hurt?” When she doesn’t answer he asks, “Do you speak English? _Français?_ ” He supposes German is too much to hope for. She still doesn’t answer, but his non-threatening smile seems to be doing the trick, because she lets go of her knees and her lip starts to tremble.

“Don’t worry,” he says as kindly as he can. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

The dam bursts. The little girl throws herself at him, wrapping her little arms around his neck, and sobs into his shoulder. “It’s all right,” Erik murmurs. “You’re all right. It’s okay. We’ll find your parents.”

The girl continues to sob while Erik absently pats her on the back and looks past her, at the bodies. He really hopes that her parents aren’t among them. Maybe Pietro scooped up her mother by accident, he thinks. That’s possible - Pietro is not known for stopping and asking questions.

For such a tiny thing she’s got an impressive grip. She’s still clinging to him when Pietro zips in.

“New recruit?” he smirks. “How are her combat skills?”

Erik glares at him. “You seen anybody around here that might be her parents?”

“Not amongst the living, no.”

That’s what Erik’s thinking, too, but he doesn’t want to say it. None of the survivors had stuck around - they all ran or flew or teleported back to their families. If the girl’s parents were here and alive, they’d be looking for her.

“Fuck,” he says. “What do we do with her?”

 

**1978**

Erik sets his book down on the nightstand and sits up a little in bed when he hears a soft knock at the bedroom door. Other than himself, only two people are allowed in the master bedroom, and Charles doesn’t tend to knock.

“Come in, Ororo,” he coughs.

The door creaks open and her little face peeks in, peering at Erik for a moment before she decides to step into the room.

“Charles says you’re sick, too,” she tells him, looking worried. “He says you have to stay in bed today until you feel better.”

Erik is supposed to be en route to Vladivostok on a recruiting mission. Instead he’s sipping at a glass of orange juice and _resting_ , of all the absurd things, all because Charles caught him sneezing one too many times. There are too many things keeping Erik within these walls day to day as it is; that his own sinuses would conspire with Charles to trap him here feels like a betrayal.

“It’s only a cold,” he tells her in the healthiest voice he can muster, considering his entire head is clogged with mucous. “I feel about as bad as you did a few days ago, but now you’re feeling better and soon I will, too.”

Ororo approaches the bed, and as she gets closer Erik can see that she’s still not feeling one hundred percent, either. Her nose is red and her eyes are watery, and though he pretends not to notice, the sleeves of her nightgown are dirty from wiping her face with them. That explains the gray sky out the window.

“Charles says you catch other people’s sick because you didn’t get enough vegetables to eat when you were a kid. Charles says that means you have a wiggy moon system.”

“Weak immune system,” Erik corrects. “And no, I don’t.”

She clambers up onto the bed, even though he’s told her repeatedly that she should ask before doing so, but Erik can’t be bothered with reprimanding her. Especially not when she crawls over to him and presses her hand to his forehead, the same way he did for her earlier in the week.

“What do you think, doctor?” he asks her. “Am I dying?”

That makes her giggle. “Noooooooo!” She then sits beside him, on Charles’ side of the bed, and shyly asks, “Can I stay in here with you?”

Erik sighs and rubs at his eyes. “Fine. Why don’t you go pick out a book for us to read?”

“Okay!”

Ororo gleefully scoots off the bed and out into the hallway. Outside, a bit of sunshine peeks through the gray.

He should be on the other side of the world, he thinks as he clears the used tissues off the bed. He should be fighting for his people. He is still Magneto, after all. Yet here he is, getting ready to read picture books with a kindergartener.

When she returns, Ororo is carrying not only a stack of books, but her bunny, her puppy, and her elephant as well, all of which she throws onto the bed before she climbs back up and tucks herself against Erik’s side. She wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head against his chest so that he has no choice but to put his arm around her shoulders.

“What have we here?” Erik grabs the first book in the stack, and it’s _The Velveteen Rabbit._ Charles’ influence, no doubt. Underneath that is Dr. Seuss, and beneath that is _Amelia Bedelia._ “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to read James Joyce? Dostoyevsky? Maybe some Shakespeare?”

Ororo scowls and buries her face in Erik’s chest. “Noooooooo,” she whines.

He loves to blame Charles for slowing him down, the school for holding him still, his sinuses for delaying his flight. But deep down, he knows he has only himself to blame. His life here in New York wasn’t forced upon him. He built it himself in a hundred small decisions, a hundred times he let himself say yes instead of no.

“All right,” he smiles, running his hand over her white hair. “We can read what you want to read.”

“Amelia Bedelia!” she cheers, and tucks herself snugly under Erik’s arm. He sniffles, his smile unseen, and opens the book to page one.

 

**1983**

The bleachers are becoming so hot that Erik is beginning to worry they may burn a hole in his pants. In fact, he’s beginning to hope that his pants would catch on fire: at least then he would have a good reason to take them off.

Women don’t know how lucky they are, he thinks as he glances at the mother next to him in her knee-length skirt and sandals. She must be far more comfortable than him in his trousers, though even she is beginning to wilt in the heat. She pulls her hair back into a twist and holds it up off her neck. When she sees Erik looking at her, she offers a weak smile and comments that the forecast was only in the seventies. When Erik apologizes, she scoffs and tells him he has nothing to apologize for - it’s not his fault it’s so hot outside - then returns to cheering for her daughter.

It’s only this hot on the soccer field, though. Actually, it’s only this hot within about a half-mile radius of Ororo - a bubble of heat and sweat that’s expanding as she chases the ball around the municipal field. At first Erik had thought that only he would notice the change, since he knew to pay attention for it. Then he heard someone grumble behind him and noticed all at once that nearly every person in the stands had started using their Fifth Grade Olympics flyers to fan themselves.

They’ve been working on Ororo’s control since she was six, and as such she’s much farther along than most of the other students her age, most of whom have been at the school for only a year or two, max. It’s rare these days for her to slip like this. She must be really, really into this game.

“Come on, Ororo!” he cheers and claps his hands. She glances in his direction to show that she heard him, but stays focused on the ball.

This is her first game with the local intramural league after weeks of practice. He knew she’d been enjoying herself, but he was not expecting her to be so… into it. She is fierce out there. He always knew she was tough - he raised her to be tough - but watching her in action is entirely different. He’s never seen her in her own element like this, one that he and Charles didn’t build for her, and thriving.

The woman next to him stands. “Is there a water fountain or something? I’m dying here.” She wipes the sweat off her brow.

Erik shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here before.” Sean has been driving Ororo to and from practice since it conflicts with Erik’s and Charles’ teaching schedules.

“I think there’s one near the bathrooms,” says a man sitting in front of them, and together they go in search of water.

Some of the girls on the field are yelling, and when Erik turns to look, Ororo kicks the ball with an audible grunt and scores the first goal of the game.

“Yeah!” he cheers, and when he stands, his head spins a little.

“Did it just get hotter?” he hears a woman behind him ask.

“This is brutal,” says the friend sitting next to her. “Let’s go find some shade.”

By the final fifteen minutes of the game, the crowd on the bleachers has dwindled down to just four, with all of the other parents either under the tree on the far side of the field, lined up for the water fountain, or at the deli down the street with a promise to be back in time to pick up their kid. Erik has rolled up his sleeves and undone the top two buttons of his shirt. He’s debating taking off his shoes and socks. If only Charles were here he could take all his clothes off and none of the other parents would know a thing.

Finally the game is over and Ororo’s team has won with a score of 4-2. And in case he wasn’t sure, as soon as she’s done high-fiving her teammates and celebrating with them, she runs straight at him, yelling, “We won! We won! We won! We won!”

“Oof!”

She slams into him, hugging him tightly around the middle.

“You won!” he repeats, hugging her back. “Congratulations! You were excellent.”

When she lets go she beams at him. “Really?”

“Really,” he smiles back, then puts his arm over her shoulders and whispers in her ear: “But maybe it’s time for a cool down?”

Ororo glances around at the sweating faces and makeshift fans. “Oh,” she giggles. “Oops.”

 

**1988**

Erik walks into Charles’ office at precisely the wrong moment. He should have heard the arguing, or at least felt the frustration radiating from Charles, but he didn’t realize what he was stepping into until it was too late.

“I said no, Ororo!” Charles is saying, rather loudly and firmly, on just this side of yelling. “No. End of discussion.”

Ororo’s cheeks are nearly as pink as Charles’, and her knuckles are white from holding her hands in such tight fists. “Why not?” she demands. Erik has to admire her restraint for not stamping her feet - she looks like she just might.

“What’s going on here?” Erik asks.

Ororo looks instantly relieved to see Erik join the conversation, obviously assuming that he’ll play Good Cop. To be fair, he usually does when it comes to parental-type arguments, but he wants to tell her to hold her horses - he hasn’t even heard what they’re arguing about yet.

“Jenny and Lisa invited me to go see Michael Jackson with them next month but Charles says I’m not allowed to go.”

“Who are Jenny and Lisa?” he asks.

“Friends of hers from town,” Charles explains. “Girls who aren’t students of ours and who we don’t know.” He gives Ororo a pointed look. “Another good reason why you shouldn’t go. I’ve never even met these friends of yours.”

“Yes, you have! They were on my soccer team in middle school!”

“And I’m sure they make great midfielders, but you’re not going to a concert in New York City with them!”

Erik sighs, and instantly both Ororo and Charles know that he’s going to side with Ororo. She’s sixteen years old, he thinks. She ought to be able to go out with her friends. But before he can even open his mouth, Charles preemptively snaps, “I’m not budging on this, Erik! It’s too dangerous and she’s too young!”

“Oh, please!” Erik rolls his eyes. “You think a Michael Jackson concert is dangerous? Do you know what I was up to when I was her age?”

“Yes, Erik, we all do, but that is not a standard I wish to measure our children against!”

“Even so, I think Michael Jackson is pretty tame, isn’t he?” He looks to Ororo. “Where is the concert?”

“Madison Square Garden.”

Charles looks furious. “You realize there’s a drug epidemic on, don’t you? You do watch the news? Do the words ‘crack cocaine’ ring any bells?”

Erik glances at him, then back to Ororo. “Do you have a chaperone going with you?”

“Jenny’s older brother is taking us. He’s twenty-three. He’s going to be a lawyer.”

On one side of the room, Charles is glaring at him. _If you don’t support me here I will never touch your dick again, I swear to God._

On the other side, Ororo is giving him pouty lip, her hands clasped together in pleading position. “Please!” she whispers. “I’ll do all my homework! I’ll never stay out late again! Please, Erik! Please!”

Erik is a sucker. He really is.

“I want to meet this brother who’s taking you, and we’re going to have to set up some ground rules. But I don’t see why you shouldn’t go.”

Ororo screams and throws her arms around him. “Thank you, Erik! Thank you, thank you! You’re the best daddy ever!”

Charles is furious. _You will regret this._

 _I’m sure I will_ , Erik replies silently, but with his daughter wrapped around him, squeezing him tightly, telling him how excited she is and how much she loves him, he doesn’t much care. Besides, he knows Charles was only bluffing about never touching his dick again.

 

**1990**

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“It’s your move,” says Charles.

“Right. Sorry.” Erik’s mind had wandered off, and it takes him a moment to refocus on the chess game in front of him. He’s sure he had a strategy in place, but for the life of him he can’t remember what it was. He sets down his scotch and moves a pawn. It seems a harmless enough move until Charles sweeps in and takes a rook. “Damn.”

Charles smirks. “You’re off your game tonight,” he says as he sets the piece aside.

Erik would have made a snappy comeback - he’s sure of it - but instead they’re interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Charles calls.

Ororo enters the study with an envelope in her hands and a grin on her face. With the firelight warming her skin, she looks like she’s glowing.

“What’s this?” Erik asks.

Charles smiles and rests his chin in his hand. “I think I know what that is.”

Ororo doesn’t say anything - she just hands the envelope to Erik. The return address is Stanford University.

“You got in?” he asks, immediately tense.

Ororo squeals. “I got in!”

There’s some cheering and jumping and hugging after that, and Erik hears Charles say, “Congratulations! I’m so proud of you!” as he kisses her cheek.

But Erik doesn’t join the celebrating. “You’re not going to go, though,” he says, although it comes out sounding more like a question than he means it to be. It’s a statement. She’s not going.

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“It’s my top choice school,” she reminds him. “It’s the best school on the west coast.”

“Yale is the top school in the entire country and it’s only an hour away.”

“Actually,” Charles pipes up, “I think Princeton’s been topping the lists lately.”

“And Princeton’s only three hours away,” says Erik. “And what’s wrong with a SUNY school? Or literally any of the hundreds of schools that are within a day’s drive of here? There is absolutely no reason why you would have to go to California for school. You’re not going.”

Erik knows her smile has wilted. The glow has gone. He doesn't even have to look at her to know it, which is for the best because he can’t. He sips at the scotch, bitter in his mouth now, and waits for her to leave.

She doesn’t.

“I’m going to Stanford!” she insists. “We talked about this!”

He keeps his eyes fixed on the chessboard.

“Erik…” Charles begins.

“She’s not going!” he snaps. “End of discussion.”

Ororo is about to start crying. He can hear it in her voice when she starts with, “But Erik!”

“I said no!”

Erik is fairly sure that she and Charles share a few words telepathically before she marches out and slams the door behind her, but he pretends not to notice. He pretends to be fascinated by the color of his scotch, and that he’s only turning red because he’s sitting too close to the fireplace.

Instead of waiting for Charles’ lecture, he knocks over his king, downs the rest of his drink, and stands. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed,” he says, and leaves the room before Charles can say a word.

He’s mostly calmed down by the time Charles joins him in the bedroom, where he’s been too agitated to actually lie down, or even sit. Instead he’s stripped the bed, tossed all the old sheets into a pile in the corner, and has started digging through his closet looking for clothes to throw in the pile along with them. He needed something other than Ororo to take his frustration out on, and his wardrobe was the nearest target.

“You haven’t changed at all, you know,” Charles says.

“Sure I have.” Erik holds up a polyester shirt he hasn’t worn in ten years. “I don’t wear this anymore.” He tosses it into the pile.

Charles moves himself over to Erik and takes his hand to pull him away from the closet. “I know it upsets you to think of Ororo moving across the country, but maybe getting angry isn’t the proper response.”

“Why shouldn’t I be angry?” Erik snaps. “I’ve told her I don’t want her to go and she’s disobeying me.”

“She’s made her decision, and picking a fight won’t change her mind. Besides, we both know that’s not why you’re upset.” Charles smiles gently and kisses his hand. “I’m going to miss her, too.”

 

Ororo is laying on her bed on top of her sheets with her arms crossed over her chest when Erik enters her room. She tries to pretend she hasn’t been crying, but the tears on her cheeks give her away. She doesn’t speak.

“Congratulations,” Erik says. “I don’t know if I said it before.”

“You don’t mean that,” she grumbles as she sits up.

Erik crosses the room to sit beside her on the bed. Charles is right; he hasn’t changed at all. He can barely choke out the words: “I’m sorry.”

And even that’s not enough. Ororo just sits there looking at him, waiting for him to say more.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I know how hard you’ve worked to get into Stanford. I’m very proud of you.”

She’s still waiting for more, and he knows he has to say it.

“I just,” he starts. He takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “What am I going to do without you?”

Finally Ororo softens. “I’ll miss you, too.”

He pulls her into a hug then, and when he closes his eyes he can still remember what it was like when she was his baby, when she’d throw her little arms around him and squeeze him tight.

“If you miss me too much,” he mumbles into her shoulder, “you can always come home.”

“I know,” she says.

She won't, though. She's going to love college and make a hundred friends and never want to come home. And there's nothing Erik can do about it except hug her tighter now, while she's still here in his arms, until he finally has to let go.


End file.
